


A Talkative Parrot

by Tiofrean



Series: Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum! [1]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Jack being Jack, Jack is a Tease, M/M, Norrie's Got It Bad For Jack, Or Rather An Established Agreement, Pirate Mating Rituals, Post-Curse of the Black Pearl, Resolved Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, Table Sex, Teasing, sparrington - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 08:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30035982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiofrean/pseuds/Tiofrean
Summary: At first, their meetings had been strictly business-like, consisting of Jack relaying some valuable information to him, in exchange for James turning a blind eye on a certain black ship passing his Dauntless by. It hadn’t been easy, but after Sparrow had promised to behave - which constituted not attacking any of the British ships unless provoked - Norrington had settled more comfortably into this backwards thing they had achieved.Or, they have an agreement - with benefits - and Jack is way too talkative for Norrington's sanity.
Relationships: James Norrington/Jack Sparrow
Series: Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2221266
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	A Talkative Parrot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Count_Snarcula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Count_Snarcula/gifts).



> I blame our midnight talks and stupid ideas for this! And by us, I mean Count_Snarcula <3 More is coming... will probably make it into a series! 
> 
> Count_Snarcula kindly cast an eye upon it and deemed it good to post. Thank you, dear! Thank you for being an awesome friend! Here's to you, our shirtless Jack, and a certain posh Commodore :D

“Sir, the Black Pearl is here!” Lieutenant Groves reported, standing smartly at attention in front of his commander. Norrington nodded, still focused on the papers in his hand, his gaze scanning the provision list one last time, before he handed it to the man.    
“Very well. Take this and get some men on it right away. The quicker they are done, the quicker they can have their shore leave.” 

The Lieutenant saluted, grabbing the paper, and marched out of the Captain’s cabin, closing the door behind him. James leaned back in his chair, stretched, then allowed himself a small smile.  _ Jack was punctual, as always. _

It had almost been a surprise, in the beginning of their…  _ agreement.  _ The Commodore had expected the pirate to be late to everything, imagining it was a kind of buccaneer  _ modus operandi. _ But, to his great shock - and enormous delight - the Captain of the Black Pearl had always kept his word and his schedule, appearing exactly as they had planned. 

At first, their meetings had been strictly business-like, consisting of Jack relaying some valuable information to him, in exchange for James turning a blind eye on a certain black ship passing his Dauntless by. It hadn’t been easy, but after Sparrow had promised to behave - which constituted not attacking any of the British ships unless provoked - Norrington had settled more comfortably into this backwards thing they had achieved. 

The Governor had caught a whiff of it, of course, which resulted in a bit of half-hearted scolding and a few glasses of Weatherby’s finest port, for it had turned out that, while Elizabeth had her sights set firmly on one William Turner, she still considered Jack her friend. Governor Swann would do anything to keep his daughter happy, and if that meant  _ not _ hanging a certain pirate, well… 

It was pretty fortunate, then, that James had agreed to Sparrow’s proposal of reluctant truce, and had managed to maintain it for long enough to become certain that it was actually working out nicely. 

And then it had become even more  _ nice - _ after two bottles of rum, polished off when they had both been becalmed off Santa Anna, with their ships in a lull and the sails hanging limply from the yards. Jack had issued an invite for the Commodore, proposing a dinner and a drink -  _ not exactly in that order - _ and James had reluctantly agreed. It had been on that evening that their understanding had been broadened a little bit. He still wasn’t sure whether it had been the alcohol or the stifling air that had brought on the madness, but they had ended up sleeping together, and not in an innocent sense of the word. 

Somehow, it had become a regular occurrence, and they would now make time to discuss not only the intel Jack still provided almost faithfully, but also this unnamed thing between them, which had grown from a drunken night into anticipation-filled dreams when they were apart. 

Their next meeting place was the little port just a mile away from the Dauntless’ current position, and the Commodore couldn’t wait to meet up with his unconventional associate. 

Smile still in place, James went to change into a fresh shirt, then donned his uniform coat. It was going to rain soon, he knew, and catching a chill in the Caribbean would be more ironic than he could stand. 

Half an hour later, they finally made berth, and he shooed his men ashore, reminding Groves to keep an eye on the group assigned to provisions. He waited until everyone but the bare minimum was off the ship, then bid the nightwatch crew a curt goodbye, before he directed his steps to the gangplank. 

A short walk, a sharp turn, and he was walking up to the Black Pearl, her menacing dark sails fluttering gently even when reefed. She looked as if she was alive, instead of just a ship, and James paused for a moment, taking her in, the setting sun providing a truly dramatic background to her exotic beauty. He could definitely see the appeal Jack saw in her, dark and dangerous, filled with some unearthly magic that lent her an aura of  _ mystique. _

Shaking himself a bit, James moved on, stepping onto the Pearl’s gangplank, pausing when he saw Mr. Cotton near the mainmast. The old salt looked at him, straightening a little, and James smiled, standing at attention. It wasn’t that any pirate had ever required proper military etiquette while aboard their ships - Norrington was just a bit too attached to his training… And there was a whole other kind of satisfaction to performing acts of decorum while in a place completely devoid of such a notion. Call it perverse if you wish, but the Commodore found himself enjoying it immensely. 

“Permission to board?” He asked, and Cotton frowned at him. Before the pirate had a chance to as much as blink, his trustly parrot landed on the rail right next to James’ elbow, turning to him and tilting its green head.    
_ “Commodore James!”  _ It screeched in that irritatingly funny voice, then made an attempt at one of Norrington’s golden buttons, snapping at it with its beak. He jerked away, scowling, to which the bird whistled.  _ “Don’t shoot! Arrrr! Don’t shoot!”  _   
“Please,  _ do _ shoot,” a familiar voice sounded, and James turned his head to the quarterdeck, noticing a certain Captain standing just by the helm. “I’ve been trying to, but the blasted hell-chicken is too fast,” he explained, tying a line to one of the pegs, then walking down the short flight of stairs. 

“Captain Sparrow!” James greeted, inclining his head, to which Jack grinned.    
“Commodore! What a pleasure!” He doffed his hat, swishing it low and bowing, before he turned to his quarters, bidding James to follow. After a beat, Norrington did, nodding to Mr. Cotton on his way, ducking his head when the parrot flew over him just to settle on the wheel. 

-&-

As far as their agreements went, duty always came first…  _ Well, _ Jack used the name  _ business, _ but seemed to have acquiesced to it finally, probably because James had harangued him about it incessantly. Therefore, it had not surprised the Commodore when Jack pushed three neatly folded parchments into his hand as soon as the door closed behind his back. He took the offering and browsed through the unexpectedly neat labels written on each report, frowning when he realized just how thick they were.  _ Multiple sheets folded together, then, _ he thought, dragging his gaze to the Captain. Jack grinned, leaning up for a quick kiss, before he nodded at the letters.    
“Thought you’d want all the nice, juicy details in writing, in case we get side-tracked, luv,” he explained, and James blinked at him owlishly.    
“So, instead of telling me, you wrote me a book?” He asked, slightly astonished. There was  _ a lot _ of parchment in his grasp. The Captain shrugged.    
“Saves time, doesn’t it?” He muttered. A knock sounded, and he steered James gently away from the door, opening it with a flourish. “That’d be the supper,” he announced, letting inside a scrawny kid, a tray loaded with food grasped in his thin hands. 

James had never seen the lad before, and it was clear he had been a new addition to Jack’s beloved Pearl - he was still wide-eyed and thin, his clothes more fit for burning than wearing, rags that they were. No matter what James thought of pirates and scoundrels, he had to admit that Jack seemed to always take care of his men, either giving them enough money to dress themselves properly or providing the clothing himself. True enough, it wasn’t always the best, and it was rarely clean, but it was intact and functional, and from the sorry state of the kid James guessed it had been the first port he had made while aboard the Pearl. 

His suspicions were confirmed a moment later when Jack shooed the lad off with a heavy pouch, advising him sternly not to spend it on cheap rum, but to get himself some decent breeches and shirts.  _ And good rum. _ When the Captain turned back to him, James was only too aware of an inquiring gaze slipping over his features. He hoped his fondness didn’t show too much - it wouldn’t do to have the Scourge of All Pirates going soft on one of them.  _ At least, not so obviously. _

“Well then,” Jack said, waving his hand at the nearby table, indicating their intended supper. There was roasted chicken, some green vegetables - undoubtedly freshly purchased from the docks - and some kind of fish. The table was set with silverware, too, and there were a few candles burning on an oriental-looking wardrobe nearby, casting the cabin in their warm glow. James smiled, then made himself comfortable in one of the chairs, waiting until Jack joined him at the table before he started on the food. 

Dinners onboard a ship were usually a quick affair, the remaining break-time used for much more leisure-y pursuits, such as playing cards or smoking pipes on the main deck. James was used to such hurried meals, then, and the ease with which Captain Sparrow could spend hours at a table, talking about nothing, had been a rather surprising discovery. Not an unwelcome one, though, not under any normal circumstances… 

This time, however, James was a bit short on patience, considering they hadn’t seen each other for three months. It wasn’t anything unusual with the life they both led, but it was still something that was hard to stand, especially that the Commodore considered himself a steadfast man. It had started early in his life, and did him more harm than good. His father had always considered patience to be the highest of virtues, and so he had imposed that notion on his youngest son with vengeance, probably because he had failed miserably with his two older brothers. Therefore, James was exceedingly good at waiting, whether the goal had been his promotion or a woman he had been promised. 

_ Or a certain pirate Captain, with his tantalizing eyes and intriguing tattoos.  _

It wasn’t that they had sworn loyalty to each other - he was pretty sure that while he was progressively more disinterested in matters of flesh that didn’t involve Jack, the man himself had likely wenched away in every port they’d made during those three months. It didn’t bother him half as much as it probably should - those things were different between men, and they were both free from any obligations. What bothered him, though, was the way his own body seemed to be set on edge with every quirked up smile or the smallest indication of a  _ come hither _ look. 

That was precisely why, instead of enjoying Sparrow’s wild tales on that fine evening, James scowled at his plate, silently counting minutes to the end of their meal. Which didn’t look to be any closer still, if the half-eaten chicken leg speared on Jack’s fork was any indication. The pirate’s proclivity to surprise him seemed to be endless, and Norrington wondered why it had to be on that occasion, out of so many others, that Jack just  _ had to _ use cutlery. Whether it was an attempt at impressing him, or some covert way of indicating that pirates were not the uncouth sort everyone took them to be, James wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t help noticing that Sparrow’s precise use of the fork made everything even  _ lengthier.  _

_ Not to mention all the stupid ideas that came to the Commodore’s mind as he watched him spear the meat with the fork’s teeth. _

“...so we made port at the nearest island. James, you have  _ no idea _ how much treasure there was in that galleon! Not only gold, mind you, some fine odds and ends too, along with this here fine wine. I thought it would be fitting, seeing as you’re not one for rum...” The Captain prattled on, taking an occasional bite, making chicken juices flow down his lips. James would be appalled if they had ever reached his beard, but there was Jack’s tongue, peeking out hurriedly to lick any stray drop away before it could get out of hand, and James barely stopped himself from groaning miserably. 

He had a suspicion he was being teased on purpose, but making certain required  _ talking,  _ and talking necessitated coherent sentences, and he wasn’t really capable of doing that. Jack grinned mysteriously when James reached for his glass, gulping down half of its contents, idly noticing that it was very sweet and undoubtedly quite expensive. 

“We divided everything into even shares, then, and I think you’d be happy to hear that there was enough to set aside a bit of shiny gold for you as well, seeing as you were directly responsible for providing us with all the  _ sensational  _ details as to the new trade route…” the Captain went on, grabbing his wine as well, then downing it messily. A lone drop slipped down his chin, disappeared somewhere along one of those ridiculous braids, and James licked his own lips, observing its trail. Suddenly,  _ appalling _ became  _ appealing... _

James bit his tongue. Hard.

Vaguely, he hoped that whichever galleon Jack was blubbering about had been Spanish, because he would very much like to keep their agreement running… at least on that evening. He didn’t give a fig about gold or whatever other treasure they had found, infinitely more fascinated with the way the Captain’s eyes glimmered in the low light, like two dark whirlpools of mischief. 

“You’re awfully quiet today, Commodore,” Jack observed, his infernal smirk firmly in place, and James swallowed hard to combat the raspiness of his voice. That half-smile was very,  _ very _ dangerous.    
“You never seem to shut up,” he countered, without any real heat. “I didn’t want to interrupt your soliloquy.” 

At that, Jack tutted, leaning back in his chair, seemingly done with the chicken. He licked his fingers clean for good measure, bringing forth a few tormentingly explicit images in James’ mind.    
“I hoped you’d put your foot in, as it were,” the pirate muttered around his thumb, then polished off another glass of wine. James just stared, overly warm, more than half-hard already. “Or something else,” Jack added with a leer, wiggling his eyebrows. 

As far as implications went, James’ brain had interpreted this one perfectly and at astonishing speed, presenting him with a very neat picture of exactly  _ what _ he could put  _ where _ when Jack was concerned. The Captain had definitely proved to be on the adventurous side of the bed, surprising Norrington into silence on more than a few occasions. Whether it was the man’s curiosity, bravery, or just his usual lack of self-preservation where the Navy was on the table, he always managed to render James into a quivering mess of scandalized sensibilities.  _ Scandalized, _ but very satisfied. 

At least until now, when the Commodore’s propriety had already sailed away with such speed it was currently halfway to Bombay, and its owner was still stuck at the table, biting his lip and trying not to wriggle in place as he was being mercilessly teased. 

In a rather desperate attempt at keeping himself in check - the loss of control would see him moaning pitifully like a cheap tavern wench working for extra coins - James closed his eyes, slowly counting to ten, trying to regulate his breathing somehow. He was barely at  _ three  _ when there was a scrape of the chair opposite of him. At  _ five, _ footsteps  _ thud-thud-thudded _ closer, and by the time he could even think about  _ eight, _ a weight insinuated itself in his lap.

James’ eyes flew open, taking in the Pearl’s Captain, busy wedging himself between the table and the Commodore’s body, looking very smug when he finally managed it. His legs dangled on both sides of James’ hips, beringed fingers travelled slowly over the brocade coat he wore, then slipped underneath, hot through the material of his shirt. Jack let himself explore the familiar territory, while his glittering eyes stared right into James’, dark and heated like expensive Dutch chocolate. 

Those clever hands moved south, changing directions suddenly, only to land below his waist, giving him a light squeeze, and  _ dear Lord, _ the touch was unbearably hot even through the layers of clothing he was wearing, through drawers and breeches, and James gasped, arching back, straining against Sparrow’s weight keeping him down.    
“Commodore,” Jack ventured, fingers withdrawing, hooking somewhere around his middle, then splaying over his sides and scratching gently. “I do believe you’ve misunderstood our little predicament here completely,” he murmured, leaning in. Instead of stealing a kiss, like James expected him to, Jack made a detour for his neck, pushing his nose against his collarbone. 

“Methinks, you’ve been under a rather wrong impression entirely, luv.”    
“Oh?” Norrington breathed out, tilting his head further back and giving Jack all the access he wanted, his own hands landing on the pirate’s hips, looking for purchase.    
“Indeed. You see, I think you’re convinced that I was more interested in the dinner than the  _ dessert…” _ Jack went on, kissing a wet line from his collar to his ear, earning himself a raspy groan.    
“It… certainly looked… to be the case… Captain,” James gasped out, trying to frantically collect his scattered thoughts. It was hard,  _ he was hard, _ and Jack’s insistent squeezing and scratching didn’t help one bit. Norrington wanted  _ more - _ more skin, more touch, more  _ Jack.  _

The pirate, however, had an entirely different thing on his mind, letting his fingers fiddle with the buttons of James’ shirt, undoing them at a truly glacial pace. And he kept on  _ talking, _ infuriating imp that he was, muttering words between lazy swipes of tongue over every uncovered inch of pale skin.    
“You see… I’ve been here all on me onesies… quite bored actually, because we’ve made berth a bit before noon… The whole crew went ashore, so I’ve had time to ponder on the evening I was to spend with a fine officer…” Jack mused, then paused to suck a livid bruise under James’ clavicle, licking his flesh afterwards soothingly. Norrington shivered, melting a little into his chair, pleasure coursing through his body like lightning. Jack smiled - James could  _ feel  _ it against his skin - before he continued. 

“D’you know what I thought?”    
“Pray tell…” James congratulated himself on his voice - at least it was not shaking. Not like other parts of him…    
“Ah… let’s see…” Jack drew back minutely, which wasn’t really conducive to what James wanted. He needed the Captain closer, not  _ further away. _ He craved Jack’s hands on him, squeezing and touching, driving him mad. He yearned for that infernal mouth with its quick tongue, and the man’s body with its unlimited passion. And yet, Jack leaned back and regarded him silently for a few seconds, before he started musing on his thoughts, clever fingers busy undoing the rest of the buttons of James’ shirt. 

“At first I thought about crowding you against the bulwark the second you crossed onto me ship, Commodore…” Jack relied, then shrugged. “But what would be the fun in that?” He asked, and James wanted very much to stand up and do exactly that. However, his muscles had turned to jelly sometime during that evening, and he was helpless to do anything but sit and endure Jack’s maddening caresses.    
“A lot of fun, I’d say,” he muttered instead, to which Jack grinned.    
“Aye, but not exactly the kind of fun after three months apart, aye?” He asked, a rhetorical question. James hummed, biting his lip when Jack finally managed to undo all the buttons with a triumphant crow.    
“And then I thought about your mouth,” he went on, his gaze snapping up, focusing on James’ lips. He licked them in reply, very much on par with the idea. “I would like to have your clever mouth around me,  _ Commodore.” _

The remark was casual, almost a polite request, but the husky tone it was delivered in did strange things to James’ brain.    
“You could have it,” he croaked, swallowing heavily, but Jack shook his head.    
“Nay… because then I thought it would be too crude to just drag you to me cabin and push you to your knees…”    
_ “Jack…” _   
“Nay, it wouldn’t do at all… I’d rather have you in me bed, proper-like, with me inside you, while you writhed and moaned me name…”   
“Jack,  _ please.” _

James knew he was going to die like this, scorched to hell by the heat building inside him, with Jack in his lap, driving him insane. In a last attempt at combating the overwhelming warmth eating him from the inside, he detached his hands from where they were holding those slender hips in a death-grip and tried to take off his ornate coat. Jack’s hands joined his, and soon, the coat was heaped on the floor, its expensive fabric glinting in the low light. It didn’t help one bit - and how could it have? The source of the heat was not the posh material, but the rascal currently perched on his lap,  _ grinding  _ against him, as if the verbal torment hadn’t been enough already. 

“Jack…”   
“Mhm,” the Captain hummed, finally -  _ Finally! - _ leaning in for a kiss, wet and demanding and so careless that James’ head swam with it. When they broke apart, the Commodore noticed two things: his fingers were clawing at Jack’s shirt-clad back, and Jack himself was  _ still  _ talking. 

“You know what I did in the end?” The pirate asked against his lips, warm air puffing over James’ face. “I lay down in me bed, with that handy little bottle of oil, and I let meself imagine all the wonderful ways you could take-” 

The words were not properly out of his mouth yet when something in James snapped and crumbled. _ His self-control, probably. _ Without a warning - though, going by Jack’s satisfied moan the man had expected that - he stood up, both hands firmly around Sparrow’s waist. He deposited him on the table behind, literally the closest horizontal surface he could find, and groaned with satisfaction when Jack swiped the plates to the floor with a careless hand. The candles were still on the exotic wardrobe - bless the man for placing them there.

After that, it was a mindless effort to tug off the man’s pants, loose as they were. Once he had the Captain naked from the waist down, James ran a quick hand over the straining manhood presented to him, tightening his grasp just to hear Jack moan delightfully. He himself was still mostly dressed, with his shirt open and having lost only the coat, but there was no time for niceties, and  _ anyway, _ James wasn’t at all that sure he would survive another minute of teasing.

He pressed himself closer, diving forward when Jack leaned back, and soon, he had the man spread on the table, wild hair splayed around Jack’s head, looking for all the world like a fancy, colorful octopus. James would have laughed if he hadn’t been so damned  _ aroused.  _ Instead, he skimmed one hand over the soft material of Jack’s shirt, the fingers of the other one busy unbuttoning his own breeches. The hand travelled lower, making Jack arch clean off the table with a moan, before it sneaked between his legs and  _ oh… _

James jerked his head up, his gaze boring into the Captain’s, astonishment and desire clouding his senses. 

_ Wet.  _

Jack was wet and  _ pliant  _ under his questing fingers, accepting two of them easily when James pushed them inside. His vision blurred a little, the heat enough to burn his digits.    
“I’ve been…  _ very… _ bored,” Jack mumbled, licking his lips, then threw his head back when James tested just  _ how _ bored he had been exactly.

_ Dear Lord… two fingers sank inside him without much effort… Then three… Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. _

Feeling his grip on sanity slipping, James drew himself out of his breeches, looking around frantically, scanning the nearby bookcase. There were a lot of odds and ends, and among them, a little bottle of lamp oil stood. Stupidly relieved about the discovery, James grabbed it and spilled its contents on himself. He lined up and pushed inside, gritting his teeth while he tried to remind himself about going slow. The sole notion of Jack opening himself up earlier, alone and panting on his cot, was enough to thoroughly scramble his brain, and his body demanded some instant relief.

Moving gradually, the Commodore managed not to bite his own tongue off by a miracle, the tight heat surrounding him too much to bear. He drove forward until there was no more space between them, their bodies flush together, panting and shivering.    
_ “Jamie…” _ Jack whimpered softly, straining up when James’ hands crawled over his abdomen, rucking up the shirt he was still wearing. The move exposed a long expanse of bronzed skin, and he did his best to bend down and lick a slow trail around the navel, before his tongue traveled to the side, playing over one of the tattoos. 

Jack’s hands found his head shortly, divesting him of the wig, and he didn’t have the time or the wherewithal to feel indignant when it slid to the floor, for Jack was tugging him up for a kiss. It was messy, their mouths locking in a filthy approximation of what their bodies were doing. When his lungs started to burn from the lack of air, James reluctantly drew back, his whole frame quivering. The tight heat around him demanded some kind of a movement, and he shifted forward, grinding against Jack, to which the pirate answered with a very satisfied moan. The sound was as intoxicating as the kiss had been, and the Commodore felt his control dwindling rapidly. 

Slowly, he drew all the way out and shoved in, relentless, until Jack threw his head back with another whimper. Then another. And one more, as James started to move faster. But the sweet sounds soon turned into even more words, incoherent and dissolved in pleasure as they were.   
“Yes… Jamie,” Jack rasped, squeezing his eyes shut. “Just as… I wanted…  _ ye gods,  _ but are you good at this…” He babbled, fingers running a hot path down the Commodore’s shoulder, scratching his skin even through the stiff, military shirt he was wearing, before they slipped underneath it, scouring the flesh with renewed vigor. 

Rationally, James knew that he would look as if a cat had mauled him on the next morning, but he couldn’t really find it in himself to care. Jack was a beautiful vision before him,  _ underneath him, _ and his voice shook as more nonsense spilled out. It was scandalously indecent and consisted mostly of crude descriptions of what Sparrow had thought about doing.    
“...we have to -  _ ooooh!  _ We have to  _ try… _ on the deck. One day - or - or  _ night… _ You could tie me to the mast… make me kiss the gunner’s daughter while you… from behind - I don’t _ care… James-” _ he moaned out on a particularly harsh thrust, then whined when Norrington’s hand wrapped around him, stroking quickly.    
“Shut up,” James answered, taking his mouth in another kiss, more teeth than tongue, all softness forgotten. Jack took to it like fish to water, biting back and sucking on James’ lip when he tried to pull away, and the Commodore hummed in pleasure, his blood boiling. 

The explicit imagery described to him in such a lewd manner was taking its toll on him, and he could feel himself nearing his peak. His hips had set on a frantic rhythm, far off their usual, lazy preferences, but he didn’t hear any complaints from Jack. If anything, the man urged him on, both hands shooting to his ass, pressing them closer, while the Captain’s legs tightened around his waist.    
“Jack…” he breathed out, mesmerized when those black eyes blinked open and focused on him, heated and full of something he couldn’t really put his finger on. It was the final straw and, with a rather embarrassing whine, James trembled apart, thrusting erratically. His release must have set off Jack’s own ecstasy, because the Captain joined him a moment later, tightening around him almost painfully while he made a right mess on his stomach. 

Suddenly exhausted, James leaned back to watch, mesmerized, as Jack’s seed spilled over his heaving stomach, bronzed skin adorned with pearly white evidence of their mutual delirium. He pushed his fingers through it, smearing it around in a fit of madness, and Jack groaned, licking his lips, eyes staring up at the ceiling. 

They were still panting slightly a few minutes later when the Captain finally roused himself, leaning in to steal a sweet kiss, then grinning at James and pushing him back. He stalked off to the side where a washbasin resided on a small side-table and took off his shirt. He soaked it in water and used it as a rag to clean himself off. Norrington watched the play of shadows over his flesh, flickering in the warm light of the candles, those mysterious tattoos at once exciting and frightening. 

A few moments passed while Jack sorted himself out and, once he was done, the pirate walked to his bed. He peeled away expensive sheets, crawled underneath them, before he extended one hand for James to take.  _ This was new, _ Norrington thought, grabbing the offered hand and letting himself be pulled down, too. They had never - save for the first time - spent the night in one bed  _ after _ their thirst had been sated. Usually, they ended up drinking together, before one or another stumbled back to his ship with a goofy smile on his face - a thing James would deny to his grave. 

As soon as James’ head hit the pillow, Jack draped himself over his body, splaying his limbs like an overeager starfish, and James chuckled warmly. There was a certain measure of comfort to be gained from such a position, even if it meant being half-smothered by a certain Captain. Jack mumbled something into his shoulder, with which he earned himself a mouthful of the Commodore’s shirt, and the pirate drew back, scowling at the offending garment. With a few quick tugs, he made his displeasure clear, and smiled happily when James took the shirt off with an exasperated roll of his eyes. 

“Could lose the breeches, too,” Jack muttered, kissing his shoulder, one knee creeping up Norrington’s thigh. James sighed and tugged them open, pushing them as far down as he was able to, considering his current predicament. Jack’s foot did the rest of the job, a set of surprisingly nimble toes working hard until they had the breeches pulled off and kicked away. His drawers were next, and they landed somewhere on the floor. James was slightly astonished at how  _ not _ worried he felt about that. His whole armor - consisting of the proper, commodorial garb, was currently on the floor, while he himself was enjoying a very naked Jack Sparrow pressed against his side, hot like a furnace. The man in question stretched a little, then melted bonelessly into him, a soft snore escaping before James could even think about falling asleep. 

Half trapped, quietly relishing in his status of a very much willing prisoner to one notorious pirate, James closed his eyes with a sigh. He drifted off sometime later, just as the first raindrops made themselves known with a rhythmical  _ pitter-patter _ on the Pearl’s deck. 


End file.
